


Collision

by QianLan



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, POV Finn (Star Wars), Porn with Feelings, Post-TLJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QianLan/pseuds/QianLan
Summary: After four days, they crash into each other.





	Collision

 

 

It had been four days. 

 

Four days of worry, guilt, anger, and fear. 

 

Four days of hoping and praying that Rose would wake up and that when she did, he’d know what to say.

 

Four days of avoiding the General’s eyes as she talked about sacrifice and bravery, because he wasn’t sure he knew what those things were anymore. 

 

Four days of listening as Rey told him about this strange new world of the Force that seemed completely divorced from his reality.

 

Four days of smiling as his fellow soldiers slapped him on the back, calling him _Hero of Starkiller_ , despite how ill-fitting it felt. 

 

Four days of trying to find the right words and do the right things. 

 

And that was it: none of it felt right; none of it felt real or solid or whole.  It was like he was suddenly playacting through his life, untethered, unsure.

 

Because for the first time since he’d decided to break a certain Resistance pilot out of his cell on the _Finalizer_ , he finally had time to stop, to think, to take a deep breath and pause.

 

And he was drowning in the silence.

 

Finn leaned against the wall next to Rose’s bunk and rubbed his eyes.  It had been all adrenaline and reaction and fast talking and trying not to die and now…  Now, it was waiting and hoping and having the time to sit with his thoughts, and Finn just wished he knew what he was supposed to do.

 

What he was supposed to say.

 

How he was supposed to feel.

 

Where he was supposed to fit in all of this.

 

He swallowed and looked down at Rose’s comatose form, wishing he had an answer, wishing he knew how to make all of this work.

 

He pushed off the wall and made his way to the ramp.  They’d landed yesterday.  Some nameless moon in the Outer Rim. 

 

And now they were waiting. 

 

Planning.

 

Hoping.

 

Scheming.

 

And as if his own agitation wasn’t enough, there was the general sense of melancholy and anxiety to deal with because they were _all_ trapped, trying to figure out what to do next.

 

Finn strode quietly down the ramp and out into the night.  It was a temperate planet and they’d set down near a forest.  He started walking, not really caring where his feet took him, as long as he could move.

 

He’d been cooped up for far too long on the Falcon, trapped with his thoughts and with Rose’s kiss and Rey’s strange looks and the General’s expectations and…

 

_Poe._

 

Finn froze.

 

Poe stood at the top of a rise, looking down into the valley below.  He was rocking back on his heels, his hands jammed into his pockets, and in the moonlight, he damn near glowed.

 

Finn knew he had a choice.  Turn and walk away, continue his attempt to outrun his problems in some other direction.  Or he could walk up, start a conversation, pretend like they weren’t stuck on this nameless rock in the middle of nowhere without a plan.

 

But before he could make up his mind, Poe turned and spotted him.

 

Finn figured he should wave, say something, but he simply stood there.  Staring.

 

Poe faced him, didn’t move, didn’t speak.

 

And then, all at once, there was no choice.  He started moving forward, like he was being drawn towards Dameron—like they were back on that damn tarmac on D’Qar and this was the inevitable end to both of their journeys.

 

There were no words, no niceties, no lies.  They simply smashed into each other.  Finn’s hands on Poe’s arms and Poe’s hands snaking around Finn’s waist, and Finn kept moving, his mouth surging into Poe’s, and it was rough and full of teeth and it hurt a bit.  But it was exactly what Finn needed, so he kept pressing in, greedy, wanting more.  Poe nipped at his lower lip and Finn’s eyes fell shut as he grabbed Poe’s jacket, dragging Poe closer, trying to keep him there, trying desperately to hold on to whatever this was.

 

Poe’s hands dug into Finn’s hips and Poe’s thigh was pushing in between Finn’s own and Finn’s head was suddenly not filled with worry or dread or what he was going to say when Rose woke up, but images of Dameron, naked, writhing under him, and Finn moaned, moving his hands to try to get at Poe’s belt.  Now, it wasn’t duty or obligation, but _want_ , pure and simple, and Finn was going to have it.  He needed this, just as sure as he needed air to breathe. 

 

His fingers fumbled with the latch.  And then Poe’s hands were there too—and it was messy and uncoordinated and the kind of tangle that most lovers would chuckle about, but neither of them were laughing.  They were both too focused on the task, their movements frantic as they tried to get to what they needed. 

 

Because they both needed this.

 

There was pushing and grunting, but Poe’s belt finally unlatched, and then, Finn was reaching for Poe’s cock.  Poe froze as Finn wrapped his hand around it.  Poe moaned, his hands already slipping into Finn’s pants.  He found Finn’s cock, and they both started stroking.

 

Finn’s head fell back as Poe bit his neck, and the only coherent thought in Finn’s head was that he really ought to do this right—press Poe up against the nearest rock and fuck him properly, do it until neither of them could stand up straight—but that voice in the back of his head, the sensible one that was still able to think, reminded him that there were boots and pants and all sorts of things that would get in the way and it didn’t really matter anyway because Poe’s hands felt so kriffing good.

 

_So kriffing good._

 

Finn grabbed at Poe’s hair, tugging as he bucked into Poe’s hand, and he could feel Poe trembling, and it was the most exquisite thing, fragile and beautiful, and Finn wanted to cry at the delicacy of it—this fleeting feeling that he knew he’d be chasing for the rest of his life.

 

Poe quit biting and was making these desperate, needy little sounds right next to Finn’s ear and those sounds filled Finn’s world, blocked out all of the other bullshit and the worry, and he wanted to drown in those sounds, never hear anything else.  He tried to focus on them, but there was so much.  Too much.  Finn wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.

 

Poe gasped and sunk his teeth into the sensitive skin just under Finn’s ear, and Finn’s fingers spasmed around Poe, his whole body going taut, and he was terrified he was going to vibrate out of his skin if Poe didn’t stop.  But at the same time, all he wanted was for Poe to keep going.

 

_Please._

 

Finn wished he could say it, but all he could do was moan and lick and let it crash over him.

 

And then, Poe’s lips were back on his and he was thrusting into Poe’s hand, and Poe’s hips were jerking and there was no rhythm or grace to either of their movements, just need.  And Finn found himself kissing whatever he could find to kiss: Poe’s cheek, his temple, his hair. He was muttering gibberish as he kissed—begging Poe in a language that was all their own—what he was pleading for, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it was the most important plea of his life.

 

He could feel tears burning his eyes as he nuzzled into Poe’s hair, wanting to sink into him, wishing they could stay like this forever, but all too soon, he felt it come on, rolling in the pit of his stomach until his whole body was shuddering. 

 

And then, they were both coming.  Finn threw his head back with a yell and Poe was shaking and sobbing Finn’s name, and for one brief moment, the universe stood still and everything was as it should be.

 

And then, like that, it was over.

 

They were both standing there, panting, trembling, trying to recover.  The night air and the sounds of the wind in the trees came rushing back at them, but neither moved.  Neither spoke.

 

It was as if the world held its breath, waiting, hoping.

 

Finn stepped away first, staring at his hand, sticky and cool; he walked to a nearby tree to try to clean it.

 

Poe stumbled backward and walked to a rock, tucking himself in and cleaning up as best he could.  He ran his clean hand through his hair, scanning their surroundings and then turning to look at Finn—confusion, hope, and a million other emotions playing in his eyes, which Finn could only barely see in the half-light of the moon.

 

As certain as he’d been a few moments ago, he was now lost in a sea of doubts, and as he squinted at Poe, reality flooded Finn’s senses—where he was, what was happening—and he felt the familiar confusion settle back onto him.  He was trying to catch his breath, a sheen of sweat cooling on his forehead, and for all the ways in which his entire universe had just changed, he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do or what he was supposed to say.

 

But for the first time in four days, he knew exactly what he wanted.

 

He walked back over to Poe, grabbing his arm.

 

He didn’t speak, just looked up into Poe’s eyes, hoping for some sort of answer, and what he saw there was the same hungry look he knew was in his own eyes.  Poe bit his lip, just barely nodding, and it was all the confirmation Finn needed.  He tugged at Poe and started back towards the Falcon, towards Poe’s bunk. 

 

Because even if he had to wake up tomorrow and face that awkward conversation with Rose or the General’s expectations of him, he was going to have this. 

 

He wanted to feel Poe—all of Poe—in his arms.  He wanted to taste him, hear him, wanted to get so wrecked with him that he could drown out all the obligations and fears and just _be_ for a few hours.

 

Finn glanced back at Poe and a smile tugged at his lips.  Poe matched it, his eyes crinkling, and Finn felt a certainty he hadn’t felt in…

 

Ever.

 

At that moment, Poe was solace and moonlight and a still, calm surface in the middle of a raging storm.  _And tonight_ , Finn thought as they jogged up the ramp, _I’m going to get drunk on him_.

 

It took four days.

 

But after four days, Finn had the first inkling of what he wanted his new life to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you for reading!**
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I appreciate all kudos and comments.


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